delivered with a gusto perhaps only to be felt by a day-labouring mechanic, who had “nothing but his evenings to himself.” Methinks I still sympathise with the zest with which he dwelt on the pastoral images and dreams so rarely realised, when a chance holiday gave him the fresh-breathing fragrance of the living flower in lieu of the stale odour of the Indian weed; and philosophically I can now understand why poetry, with its lofty aspirations and sublimed feelings, seemed to sound so gratefully to the ear from the lips of a “squire of low degree.” There is something painful and humiliating to humanity in the abjectness of mind, that too often accompanies the sordid condition of the working classes; whereas it is soothing and consolatory to find the mind of the poor man rising superior to his estate, and compensating by intellectual enjoyment for the physical pains and privation that belong to his humble lot. Whatever raises him above the level of the ox in the garner, or the horse in the mill, ought to be acceptable to the pride, if not to the charity, of the fellow creature that calls him brother; for instance, music and dancing, but against which innocent unbendings some of our magistracy persist in setting their faces, as if resolved that a low neighbourhood should enjoy no dance but St. Vitus’s, and no fiddle but the Scotch. To these open-air pursuits, sailing was afterwards added, bringing me acquainted with the boatmen and fishermen of The Craig, a hardy race, rough and ready-witted, from whom perchance was first derived my partiality for all marine bipeds and sea-craft, from Flag Admirals down to Jack Junk, the proud first-rate to the humble boatie that “wins the bairns’ bread.” The Tay at Dundee is a broad noble river, with a racing tide, which, when it differs with a contrary wind, will get up “_jars_” (Anglicè waves) quite equal to those of a family manufacture. It was at least a good preparatory school for learning the rudiments of boat craft; whereof I acquired enough to be able at need to take the helm without either going too near the wind or too distant from the port. Not without some boyish pride I occasionally found myself intrusted with the guidance of the Coach-Boat--so called from its carrying the passengers by the Edinburgh Mail--particularly in a calm, when the utmost exertions of the crew, four old man-of-war’s-men, were required at the oars. It not unfrequently happened, however, that “the laddie” was unceremoniously ousted by the unanimous vote, and sometimes by the united strength, of the ladies, who invariably pitched upon the oldest old gentleman in the vessel to “_Steer_ her up and haud her gaun.” The consequence being the landing with all the baggage, some half-mile above or below the town--and a too late conviction, that the _Elder_ Brethren of our Trinity House were not the best Pilots.